


Just This Once

by LittlePeony



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePeony/pseuds/LittlePeony
Summary: After a bad dream, John Paul seeks out comfort enough to let him return to sleep.
Relationships: John Bonham/John Paul Jones
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	Just This Once

He woke up, and a few things were normal. 

The first being that he was in his hotel room. Dark except for the green light of the fire detector and the alarm clock, that annoying thing that would keep him up for hours at night sometimes, when he thought about it too much and didnt have enough to drink, or wasn't exhausted enough. 

The second being that he was alive. He could feel his heart beating in his chest- he felt it through skin and sinew and muscle, through the old shirt he had thrown on hours before. The one that was five sizes too big, when he had bought it from a vendor at a concert, when he had the time to go to those, years ago it seemed like. 

But he wasn't thinking about the concert right now. He was thinking about the one outlier of the evening. The thing that didn't fit. The reason he was awake and gasping for breath and clutching at his chest, covered in a cold sweat and shivering. 

The nightmare. 

The man knew full and well that there would be no sleep after this. He couldn't comfort himself enough for rest. Not after that. The memories raked through his brain, and he nearly whimpered. 

But he refused to do that. He had control over his vocal chords, didn't he? 

Brushed a few stray strands of nearly ginger hair out of his eyes. Took a deep breath- one that hitched because he felt his fingers on his brow- cold as ice, as unrelenting winter. So were his feet, now that he felt their presence. 

He just wanted to sleep. To not wake up freezing cold for once. To be warm and safe and god, if he admitted it to himself, even... even happy. Just this once. Just for a night. 

The green light of the alarm clock said 4. The last time he looked at it, it had been 2:30. 

His mind began to work. Maybe... maybe...

Threw his legs out the side of the bed, clothed in old pajama pants, found his way blindly to the door, made sure to have his room keys in his pocket. His periwinkle eyes seemed to burn just by opening them, which was just starting to be more and more difficult as he stepped into the soft light of the hallway. He was bone-tired, after all. 

Found his was down the hall, two doors down, and found it just slightly open. 

Smiled a bit to himself. Bonzo was never one to mind many things after drinking the night away. So he let himself in, padded in the light of a tv that was muted on some channel advertising used cars, and found Bonham splayed on the matress, snoring softly into a pillow. 

Smiled a bit more, but the anxiety in his gut told him to go. Let the man sleep. You shouldn't be here. 

He turned around to go after one more look, but then the drummer was moving, grumbling to himself before opening his eyes. 

"Jones? What in bloody fuck are you doin', then?" Bonzo sounded like someone just got a clean blow to his windpipe. 

John Paul felt guilty. "...Ah, it's... Well, it doesn't matter much. I guess I was looking for something." Turned to go, second time's the charm, hoped he didn't look too horribly idiotic with such a sad excuse. 

But then he heard the mattress creaking with Bonham's movements. "Christ- no, hey." 

He turned back, and Bonham was propping himself up on an arm, wearing an old and moth-eaten white t-shirt that didn't hide the definition of his chest. His long chocolate brown hair was a mess, but not too badly. "You came in 'here for somethin', spit it out." His eyes were half-closed in exhaustion. But he stayed awake this long. That warranted an award in its own right. 

"I thought you'd be awake..." he bit his lip for a moment, watched the colors cast by the screen of the television on Bonham's face flicker and change. "Couldn't sleep. It's silly, really," Took a step toward the door. 

Bonham's eyes went to the bass player's hands, then knees. "Nightmare?" 

A sigh. "Yeah, actually." Because he was a bad liar, and still very shaken. Another step back. 

"No, no-" The drummer took an arm that was still in the covers, drew them back. "Come on, it's a queen sized." 

Goddamn this man and his ability to read minds. 

Bonham was warm and soft and, really, a gentle giant. "Fuck's sake, you sleep in your freezer?" 

Because Jones' back was against the drummer's chest, but Bonham's arm was draped across the smaller bass player, and that big paw was overtop his hands. 

A snicker. "Bad circulation." 

Bonham gave those hands a squeeze. "You're a mess." 

John Paul closed his eyes, put his face underneath the covers. 

He rather liked being a mess just then, with the brunette's face nuzzling into the back of his neck, warm breath on cold skin. He felt his eyelids droop shut, didn't mind the tv light or the still open door. He was already asleep, after all.


End file.
